


Keeper

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel stumbles onto an interesting sentinel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Tauriel gets very interest in the young dwarf that looks so soft and is so fierce” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20656895#t20656895).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She could ask at the gate. For all the tensions of their people, they’d probably let her in. She’s no longer under the protection of King Thranduil, but the dwarves likely know little of that—only that the elves and dwarves, in the end, were allies when they needed to be. But perhaps her pride isn’t quite ready for that. She does want to see _more_ , especially of the Dwarven world she’s already dipped her foot into, but Tauriel is still an elf of the Greenwood, and she has no wish to go and bow before another king. 

So she slips around the Lonely Mountain, as the locals call it, on her own. She’s become accustomed too quickly to traveling that way. She has yet to stray far, and the people of Dale are good to her, but she has no wish to stay there permanently any more than she did in the woods. The mountainside isn’t particularly welcoming—it’s scorched from dragon fire and trampled from the battle. But it’s open and she’s _free_ , and there’s something to be said for that. 

She moves in plain, brown robes, wrapped tightly around her body, with her bright hair woven into a tight braid and tucked down along her spine. This isn’t the sort of terrain she’s used to hiding in, but she’s trained well and moves with stealth. She’s only bothered to pack a small bag at her hip off food: the river water’s now pure, and she’ll have to reveal herself sooner or later. If she can’t, if it’s too painful, she can come back to Dale within a day. She reaches the Western hill before nightfall. 

The Western gate isn’t anything like the proclaimed front of Erebor. It’s newly reopened—the dwarves have rebuilt remarkably fast—and too high up for an orc, at least, not with any surprise to be had. Ravens still circle the mountain, but calmed, and Tauriel knows how to keep out of sight of animals. One woman alone can get where an army can’t. She climbs one rock ledge after another, gripping only with eager hands and sandals molded to her feet. She isn’t even yet sure of what she wants to see inside—anything _different_ , maybe: a whole other culture that’s lived right at her doorstep but she’s never known. It makes it easier to bear the cold wind that whips stray hairs about her face and the eerie lack of greenery. 

It’s a long way up with few resting points in between, but by the time the sun’s setting, she reaches the newly exposed columns, chiseled into true design instead of the random minerals everywhere else. They even out into a parapet at the top. Thus far, she’s seen no sentinels overlooking it. The battle’s long enough past that fear’s ebbed away, but not far enough past for there to be spare soldiers to line unlikely places. She makes it to the top without incident. 

She pokes her head over the edge first, sees nothing moving in the dark, and carefully vaults herself over, the way only an elf could. 

She’s barely landed when something small and blunt slams into her shoulder. It stings, doesn’t quite _hurt_ , but the impact is jarring enough for her hands to fly back to her concealed bow. She already has her fingers around the end of an arrow when she spots her assailant, crouching at the other end of the parapet with a slingshot still quivering from being loosed. 

The dwarf blinks at her. He looks just as surprised as she is, small and plump with big round eyes and a bigger nose, flattened ruddy hair and short tufts of a beard with a thin braid on either side of his head. He’s wearing knitwear: a sweater and scarf, no mail insight. Her hand draws away from her bow, and the dwarf lowers his slingshot, hurrying over and spouting a sudden, “Goodness, I’m sorry!”

Tauriel’s brows draw together, but he comes right up to her, only a step or two away, not even up to her chest but quite a bit thicker. His cheeks flush to drown out his freckles, and she can tell it isn’t from the cold. “I’m so sorry—I thought it was an orc or something! Are you alright?”

Tauriel almost laughs. She’s taken far worse scrapes from sparring matches alone. She assures him, “I am unharmed.” She feels obligated to add, “Although, you were not wrong to react that way.”

The dwarf waves a hand dismissively. He looks familiar, though she’s still learning how to tell dwarves apart—mortals in general can be challenging that way. He confirms it by saying, “I recognize you from the battle; you helped us out quite a bit.” He pauses, then turns an even darker shade of red, continuing, “I... I’m afraid I never caught your name...”

“Tauriel,” she provides, and perhaps wouldn’t have if he weren’t so surprisingly polite. It’s strangely endearing, and certainly different than the picture of dwarves elves paint, and even of those she’s met. Now that he’s said it, she’s sure she’s met him before. He was one of the original pack they caught creeping about in their forest that started this whole thing. When he doesn’t give his name in return, she tries, “And you...?”

“Oh! Ori,” he stumbles, bowing quickly and adding, “at your service!” A grin twitches at Tauriel’s lips. She’s the one sneaking about in his kingdom, and he offers such a thing. Her king wouldn’t believe it to hear it. On straightening out, Ori asks, “Forgive me, but what are you doing scaling the walls like that? I’m sure Dwalin would’ve let you in the front gate...”

“I apologize for startling you, but I was not, ah... ready for that interaction.” To her surprise, he nods like he understands. It’s her turn to ask, “And what is a sentinel doing at these walls without any armour or proper weapons?”

Ori lifts his hand to rub at the back of his head and sheepishly mumbles, “I just came up here to read, I... I’m a scholar, not a soldier.”

Rubbing her arm, Tauriel murmurs by way of a compliment, “You have the aim of a soldier.”

Ori laughs. “I’ve improved a lot since I left the Blue Mountains, but if my aim was any good, I would’ve hit your head; I thought you were an orc and meant to toss you off.” As soon as he says it, his eyes go wide again, and he hurriedly adds, “Not that you look anything like an orc!”

It’s her turn for a dismissive chuckle. “An orc may have been shorter, in which case it may have hit their head. But the Blue Mountains, you said? It has been a long time since I have heard of such places. That is very far away, yes?”

“About as far West as you can get,” Ori answers with a nod and a vague gesture out over the open hills. It’s the first time she really turns to admire the view, obscured mostly by hills and the falling night, but breathtaking nonetheless. She does nothing but take it in for a full minute. She only turns back when Ori tentatively asks, “Are you interested in traveling?”

It takes her another moment to admit, “I am still finding my way after... everything.” There’s a softness to Ori’s face, an understanding. His smile becomes sad, but it reminds her she isn’t alone; they all lost things in the war. There’s a strange solace in that that’s been harder to find amidst immortals. It invites her to be honest, and she muses, “I am interested in... in learning new things.”

Ori brightens at this. “Me too,” he says, full of sincerity, and he gestures back to an open, dusty volume and a bundled, grey blanket that she’d mistaken, in the stillness and low light, for stone. “I’ve been going through Erebor’s library whenever I can and discovering so much! It’s astounding the knowledge that’s been lost over the years. Not just of dwarves and Erebor, but the history of our world, far off places, and things that don’t even exist anymore...”

His enthusiasm’s infectious. She says, “That sounds intriguing.”

“It is.” Once more, his cheeks flush, and he looks up at her, hopeful but shy, to ask, “Would you... ah... like to sit with me?”

“If you promise to keep your slingshot at bay.”

Ori laughs, then offers her a stubby hand, and Tauriel takes it with surprising ease. For the first time in nearly a year, she feels a spark of _purpose_ again, though she’s not sure yet if it’s for the wide world kept in books below, or for the comfort of company with which to figure it out.


End file.
